


Use Your Words

by Nenalata



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blow Jobs, Church Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, I don't know why you came, Like this is just sheer shameless fucking right here, Oops, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Professors Ending Card, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, god I'm funny, ha ha ha orgasm joke!, if you came here expecting plot, mortal savant? more like morals-haven't, right? right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22521691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenalata/pseuds/Nenalata
Summary: Forget the chapel. Annette will probably start screaming in the practice room at any moment if he keeps this up.Annette works hard at everything she does. She deserves some praise for it.Maybe she doesn't deserve discovering howintoFelix's praises she is while co-teaching a mortal savant seminar, but life doesn't always go according to the Saints' plan, does it?
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 41
Kudos: 292





	Use Your Words

Felix notices right away.

Sylvain’s always given him grief for rejecting all manners of romantic invitations, not failing to notice them in the first place. Felix has spent most of his life actively avoiding them, actually—for all Sylvain and Ingrid’s potential for romantic courtships of their own have been sold off to the highest bidder the moment their Crests manifested, Felix’s never dictated his…marital future. And seeing his friends chafe under such uncompromising values has encouraged him to take advantage of his own agency. To keep saying no, or saying nothing at all.

Romance aside, Felix has always enjoyed having the upper hand. So when Annette glares at him during their shared seminar and demands of him, “Oooh, if you don’t stop teasing me like that, I’m—I’m going to lock us both in the chapel and scream until it echoes _everywhere_ around your ears!”…

Even though Felix doesn’t pay much attention to the smirk on his _own_ face, the gentle danger in his _own_ voice, the low timbre of his _own_ laugh, when he replies, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” and Annette…

Well.

Felix _notices_ Annette shiver. Their students _notice_ her blush, yes, but potential professorly gossip interests him far less than Annette’s sudden obsession with arranging and rearranging her dress and her refusal even to look at him while they conduct the rest of class and training.

“Anyway,” she clears her throat. “Does that make sense to everyone?”

A couple students have the courage to laugh. Felix would be more ticked off did Annette try _so hard_ to keep a straight face and spine. “What’s so funny?”

Given her firm ‘teacher voice,’ Felix suspects she doesn’t want an honest answer. Unfortunately for Annette, she gets one.

“If you want to give us the day off so you and Professor Fraldarius can go to the chapel…” one girl giggles, and now the whole class joins in, good-humored, teasing laughter resounding even through this small, sawdust-filled training classroom.

Steam practically whistles from Annette’s ears. Felix makes a great show of untying his hair and redoing the style. Annette doesn’t appear to know what to say; it takes the _snap_ of his hairtie between his fingers and hair to shake her out of her stupor.

“No!” she says, _years_ too late to be casual. Those grins haven’t left the students’ faces.

“She considered it for like, half a second,” one kid whispers to another. They both burst into laughter, making an unexpected surge of mercy bubble to life in Felix’s conscience.

He draws his sword and levels it at the two.

“Dodge.”

“Huh—?”

Felix snaps his fingers, a tiny fireball flickering between his thumb and index, and flings it at the snickering boys. They roll out of the way, but not quickly enough; the smell of singed hair fills the classroom.

“You’re weak,” Felix sneers, snapping another fireball to life. “There are no _half-seconds_ on the battlefield.” He shoots the fireball in the opposite direction of his glare, and another student leaps away with a squeak.

“Pair up!” Annette calls over the ensuing commotion. “Find a—a black magic student, and a—”

The students have already done so, but mainly to defend from Felix’s fiery onslaught. They’re less _pairs_ than they are a battalion with an equal number of human shields.

Felix aims to change that. Reaching deeper into his supply of energy, he conjures a much larger fireball and blasts it into the center of the student-formed battalion.

They scatter, and class continues.

Unfortunately for Annette, Felix does, too.

Because now that he’s noticed…

Now that he’s noticed, flustering his easily-flustered lover with words that shouldn’t even _be_ innuendo makes teaching clueless teenagers much more fun.

“You’re doing so well for me,” Felix praises her quietly when she rebounds a student-flung spell aimed at his face. Annette grumbles, blushes, but grins to herself.

“Perfect. Just like that,” he whispers, ghosting his fingers along her hip while he heals a lucky sword slice. “You’re taking me _perfectly_.” Annette bites her fist, and it’s easy to pretend the sound she’s failed to muffle is one of pain.

He grows more daring.

Felix disarms her, axe thunking to the dusty floor with a quick riposte. “On your knees, Annette,” he commands her, softly, dangerously, just above the din of fighting students. For a moment, she does—but only to grab the training axe again and scamper away. And glance over her shoulder to see if he’s following. And pout when she realizes he’s not.

Felix dodges a barrage of Annette’s wind spells: one, two, three, six, eight. He closes in on her, readying a spell of his own just in case, but a powerful gale of a stronger spell blasts him back. She scurries over to check on him, apologies already spouting from her lips. When she bends over to check him for injuries—like she could—he leans in close, murmurs, “ _Good girl_ ,” and struggles not to pull her down with him when a shudder wracks her entire frame.

Forget the chapel. Annette will probably start screaming in the practice room at any moment if he keeps this up. The thought…excites him. Unfair as it is to the poor students, some of whom have picked up on how the flirtations are now intentional and over-the-top, Felix loves seeing the way she shivers under the caress of his words even as she chastises him with a sharp, embarrassed glare.

He’s going to get an earful when class ends. But he’s curious to learn how much of it will be true scolding and how much of it will be begging him for more.

Now it’s _Felix’s_ turn to shiver, which nearly gets his ear banged up by a student’s blunted sword for his distraction. He batters the student back to her rightful place in ‘mediocrity.’ Punishment for snapping him out of the fantasy of Annette stretched on her back, arms above her, breasts heaving, begging him, _pleading for more_ —

The bells chime. Felix has never seen students so amused, nor so relieved to end class. “See you next week!” Annette bravely tries. Teenage snickers answer her, and Felix struggles not to join in. 

“Productive class,” he remarks, drawing Annette’s attention and ire.

She whirls on him the instant each giggling student follows the ringing cathedral bells out of the classroom. “Ugh! You are just impossible!”

Felix crosses his arms and looks down at her. She is so…tiny. “Is that so.”

Annette mimics his posture, but on her, it’s more of a pout. “You are! You were so excited to run a mortal savant seminar with me. I booked this training classroom a whole month ago, you know. And then you go…saying things like that to me! In…in front of the students, no less! Getting me all…all…”

Each word she snaps colors her cheeks pinker and pinker. Felix shifts his weight onto his other foot, and Annette shuts up and skitters back a step, like she thinks he plans on coming closer. His smirk grows. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do! And you know it! I mean, you know you do know what I…mean…” Practically crimson now. She casts a furtive glance over her shoulder, like the heavy, clanky training classroom door will swing open without either of them noticing.

They’ve worked together at Garreg Mach for several moons now. They’ve been… _together_ for several before then. Felix likes what they do, loves—what they do, and while part of what they love comes from discovering what _works_ together, Felix also loves discovering what works even when they didn’t mean to.

“So what _do_ you mean?” Felix leans forward. Annette leans back. “Tell me. Maybe I’ve guessed wrong. We’ve been talking a _lot_ today.”

“Oh, _you_! You’re so…embarrassing and, and you _tease_ me all the time, and…” She makes a mistake. She pokes his chest. Felix snatches it and uses it to pull her close, make her own hand betray the rest of her body. She doesn’t even resist the moment his skin touches hers.

Before a tiny, less-charged part of his heart can crumble to affectionate dust, Felix pulls her even closer, chest to chest. Her pulse speeds up when he insists, “You can do better than that. Come on, Annette. Use your words.”

Felix is a man of action, not words.

But Annette has always shown such creativity with them. He’s willing to compromise.

Annette’s gasp comes out more like the start of a moan. And heat races straight to Felix’s groin. “I want to hear your voice. Tell me what you want.” He hums, like he has to think hard. Annette holds her breath, and he can _feel_ it. “Something about…what, locking us in somewhere? Locking us in _here_ , was it?”

“In the chapel,” Annette whispers. “Locking us…in the chapel.”

“Why?” When she stays silent, shaking her head over and over and over, Felix brushes his lips over the tip of her ear. Revels in the feel of her body’s shiver skittering up and down her spine beneath his palm. “To pray, I suppose.” He snickers when she refuses to elaborate and starts to pull away. “That doesn’t interest me much.”

“No,” she interrupts him, tone bordering ‘offended.’ She tugs him back and nuzzles her bright-red face into his thin training shirt. “Until I…until I…”

“Until?”

“Felix,” Annette whines, practically smooshing her face against the fabric. “Come _on_ —”

Felix lifts her chin with his free hand, refusing to look away. He doesn’t like eye contact, hardly even with her, but—“I want to hear it out of your mouth.” His thumb traces her lower lip, and he doesn’t bother hiding his pleased grin when he releases her only to have her stumble into him. Following him. Wanting him. “Your _voice_. So, we’re locked in the chapel until you…?”

“Until I scream! Fine! Happy now? I want to—to lock us in the chapel until I scream. And have it echo everywhere and everywhere. Happy now?” She bops her forehead on his chest enough times Felix is treated to the sight of her impossibly-redder blush at least three times.

“Not particularly,” he sighs. Annette stiffens, but before she can grow too embarrassed—in a way Felix does _not_ want—he lifts her chin again and forces himself to hold her gaze when he says, “I want to hear your prayers. I want to hear you scream for the Goddess when really you’re screaming for _me_. I want the whole chapel to _feel_ your devotion and know who _fucked_ it into you.”

Annette stays silent for so long Felix worries he’s overstepped. He doesn’t curse much—well, not as much as some of his other friends—and rarely, if ever, lewdly. Annette, at least, has never heard it.

“There’s…” Annette clears her throat, but it’s more of a squeak. Felix traces her jaw with his fingers and waits. “You know that…that Saint Indech chapel is a little behind this building, right?”

Felix’s hand trembles with nerves, anticipation, both—“Why don’t you show me? Don’t think I remember.”

“ _Ugh!_ You—!” Annette flings him away, gathers her skirts, and hurries over to the door. Felix admires the way her dress hugs her curves when she bends to shove the heavy wood. But she spins around again to fix him with a fierce glare. “We-ell? Are you still coming?”

“Absolutely,” he mumbles to himself. He knows his own face is flushed when he trails behind her, trying to keep his pace normal even as Annette scampers outside and behind the training rooms, looking around so _not-subtly_ while her lover follows.

* * *

Once inside, Felix finds himself at a sudden loss for words.

This chapel is, indeed, disused. It’s one of the smaller ones; he cannot, in fact, recall ever stepping foot inside. With the Central Church so weakened, most buildings at Garreg Mach have become extra storehouses or classrooms. Sometimes, they become dorm buildings; there’s another chapel of Saint Indech converted into barracks.

Annette and Felix’s new refuge fits none of those descriptions. Dust covers many of—

“Close your eyes!” A _whoosh_ of brisk magical wind, and Felix coughs up a storm. “Sorry, sorry, here, I brought my—”

Felix chugs half the glass water bottle and hands it back. She sets it on a pew and scuttles a few rows down, out of range. He can’t help glaring now as he follows. “You needed to give me more warning than that.”

“I said to close your eyes,” Annette huffs. “Well, maybe I didn’t say to…close your mouth, but I didn’t really…”

He rolls his eyes. The dust has dissipated from the tiny space, even the stones under the pews. “Your students just left one of your magic lessons, didn’t they? You were supposed to teach them how mages fight alongside soldiers—”

“Hey!” Annette puts her hands on her hips. “One of _our_ magic lessons! _You_ were supposed to help!”

“I did help,” he argues, affronted. “I know how to swing a sword without injuring those around me.”

She scoffs right back and he wants to kiss her. “Well, I do, too! But with magic! I could blow _any_ sword. If I wanted to, I could blow _your_ sword—"

Silence.

“Up!” Annette squeaks, breaking the sudden, charged tension. “I can…I can blow your sw—it up, out of your—”

“Prove it.”

The air between them feels _electric_. Silent save their breathing. Felix can hear her nervous swallow.

“Prove it?” she asks, more of a whisper than a question.

“You heard me.” Felix’s hands shake so hard. It’s excitement, it’s nerves, yes, but it’s _power_ surging through his veins, raw arousal brought to searing life with the heat of her flushed cheeks. “Prove it. You said you wanted to. So prove you’re any good.”

Annette’s breath comes fast, faster. “How?” Her voice cracks, and Felix feels _alive_.

“Get on your knees.”

“Wh—” And again, he hesitates, worried it was too much, too new, but Annette _drops to her knees she’s on her knees she’s at his feet and she’s on her_ knees _for him_ “Should I…” She reaches for his belt buckle and Felix has never wanted to feel her mouth so painfully in his entire life, the entire time he’s known her.

“Wait.” He unclasps his cloak himself. It’s not his usual armored attire, just training gear, but there’s still too much fabric constricting him. His trembling fingers fumble with the clasps. It takes an embarrassingly too-long time to toss the stupid thing aside, but his shame dies a quick death when he turns back to see Annette’s unbuttoned the bodice of her dress, too.

It’s still on. This is something Felix would like to remedy soon. But for now…for now, the curves of her breasts push _just_ out of the bodice, pressed tightly from where she’s trying to get them all the way out. To show him.

Felix stifles a moaned curse in his fist. And sure enough, it echoes.

Annette stops at the sound, looking up at him with huge, hopeful blue eyes. “Is this okay?”

“Of course.” He cards his fingers through her hair, and she snuggles into his caress, closing her eyes. “Perfect,” he breathes. “You’re…doing perfectly.”

She giggles. It echoes, too. And while it’s so…sweet it hurts, Felix would rather this abandoned place serve their intended purposes.

“So,” he steels himself, “weren’t you trying to prove just how _perfect_ you can be?”

It’s almost funny, the way arousal wars with competition on her face. “I’ll show you,” she mumbles, yanking his belt off and throwing it aside with enough force its clatter fills the empty air, “I’ll make _you_ scream.”

Felix’s sharp intake of breath sounds so much louder than he’d like. But it’s too late to change his mind about who will be doing _what_ , because Annette’s pulled him out of his pants, stroking him to full hardness, all the while looking up at him _from her knees_ with such determination on her face.

And she keeps that confident gaze trained right on him when she opens her mouth, fists him at the base, and brings her plush lips to suck lightly on the tip.

“ _Fuck_.” Felix grabs blindly for her hair, stopping himself before his fingers brush silky red locks. No, he wants to watch, wants to tell her—“ _Annette_.”

She licks teasing little stripes on, around him, trailing her lips up and down like the memory of kisses. Every mocking little lick has her breasts brush his legs, but the pants he regrets leaving on block any brush of her soft skin on his. He bucks, trying to give her some hint of what he wants. Precum smears her upper lip, and when she licks it away, the tip of her tongue brushes just against his underside. Felix gasps, then gasps in outrage when she pulls away with a grin.

She looks _far_ too smug for his liking.

“Come on, Annette.” He pets her hair again, more soothing this time, cajoling. Whatever expression he has, whatever smile his bitten lips give her, make her shudder hard enough Felix can see it. “I know you can do more than that.”

“Hmph.” Yes. Far too smug. Annette thumbs the side of her mouth and sucks a drop of precum off her skin with a wet, lewd pop. Felix manages not to groan. “What will it get _me_?”

Felix’s fingers scrape not-quite gently along her scalp, and Annette’s first moan echoes around them. “It’ll get you a good and hard fucking if you’re a good girl.” Her second moan is much louder; Felix’s answering laugh is quieter and a little evil.

Annette leans forward again, flattening her tongue at the base and trailing it up and up until the tip rests on her stuck-out tongue. Felix pushes her hair back to see her better, see the way her blue eyes turn dark for _him_ , to see her face, to—

Annette swallows his cock as much as she can take, and Saint Indech’s distant ears receive Felix’s first shouted curse. “Just like that,” he gasps while she bobs her head, stroking her hand to follow her mouth, “so well, you’re doing so—”

Her moan vibrates around him, and Felix nearly comes right then.

Of course Annette would want _praise_ , too.

“Perfect,” he repeats. “You really are—ngh, really good at this, aren’t you? Know just how to…how to take a co—”

He breaks off into another moan when her lips form a tighter circle, pulls back, _back_ , and slips off the tip again. Which is good, because Felix is still unsure if…

“Take what?” she teases him, idly stroking him again.

_Smug_.

And Felix decides he doesn’t need to worry about _words_ anymore. “You’re so perfect at taking my cock,” he growls, getting down on his knees, too. He slams his mouth on hers, uncaring for anything save kissing and licking and biting little gasps, squeaks, moans from her voice. Annette wraps her arms around his neck, drawing him over her, letting him press her down onto the cold stone floor.

She’s just yanked his shirt off when Felix realizes—for the first time in his life, his friends would probably tease—he’s been incredibly rude. “Hold on,” he mutters, heedless of Annette’s whine when he shoves himself off her. He grabs his discarded cloak and lays it flat on the stones. Annette watches him, propped up on her elbows, breasts still spilling out of her half-tied bodice. “Well? Are we going to do this?” Felix asks her, sitting back down and quirking his brow in clear invitation. Annette flushes again, shuffling on her knees to join him.

“Thanks,” she says, running her hand along his chest. Felix places his hand over hers, letting her direct the path of her fingers, the path of their hands.

“Come here,” he says when her caresses slow. As she climbs into his lap, still holding his hand, his free one’s nimble fingers unhook the rest of her bodice. Annette’s kiss almost distracts him from the task, teeth tugging his lower lip into her mouth, tongue curling under his. “Let me—” finally the thing falls to pieces, “—let me touch, make you feel good. I need to, to touch you, make you—”

Felix hardly knows what he’s saying anymore. All he cares about now is tasting her, touching her, hearing her. Sweat glimmers on her chest and probably his, too. He dips his tongue into the crevices of her collarbones, holds her tight against him while she writhes and gasps. Annette’s nails rake harsh little lines up and down his back, hard enough to sting but not enough to really hurt. Each prick of her touch on his skin makes him twitch against her belly.

“Like that, good, good,” Felix groans against her neck, open-mouthed kisses leaving pretty little bruises on her skin. This dress needs to disappear soon, _fast_ , but Annette’s clutching him so close and gasping that moving away is a very unappealing concept right now.

“Talk to me,” she insists when Felix finally musters the energy to toss the dress over her head.

“Talk?” he snorts. Annette tugs the leather cord from his hair and smooths the heavy black locks along his shoulders. “I can think of better things to do than _talk_ right now.” Felix brushes his fingers along her breasts, one finger at a time, letting his nails trail gently along her nipples.

“Mm, yes, _talk_ ,” she bites out. “Like you were _sooo_ happy to do during class. In front of everybody! _Embarrassing_ me—agh, more, more of that,” she cuts herself off. Felix obliges, sucking on a small spot below where her jaw meets her ear while stroking repetitive presses up and down her nipples.

“I like hearing you beg,” he whispers into her ear. The chapel _rings_ with her moan. Heat races to Felix’s impossibly-harder cock, then _hotter_ when she rocks against it. “Fuck, Annette—"

“Yeah, like that,” she insists, that moan still echoing in her voice. “Talk to me like that.”

Oh.

Oh, right.

_Right_.

“You like it when I say things like this?” Felix murmurs, trying and failing to keep the dark smile from his voice. “You like it when I tell you how good you are—good you _feel_ —” he pinches, just a little, and Annette’s voice fills the chapel again, “—with my cock in your mouth? That’s what you’re saying?”

“Mhm.” She’s practically riding a rhythm on his pants, which also need to go, and not just because she’s leaving a wet spot. Felix wants to feel it himself.

With minimal assistance from Annette, he slides out of his pants and drags her back into his lap. She traces absentminded patterns on his chest. “Keep going,” she urges.

Felix laughs and brushes her hair from her eyes. “Your blush is cute,” he tells her without thinking. “I mean—”

“You’re cute, too,” she whispers, and before Felix can blush, because he is _not_ , he wraps an arm around her back, silences her with a kiss, slips his tongue into her mouth, and trails his hand down her stomach. Slowly. Slowly enough she wiggles against him, impatient as ever. His hand speeds past where he figures Annette’s hoping he’ll go and stops.

“You’re soaked,” Felix tells her. _Like she won’t know_. He curls his middle finger against her, _outside_ her, and ignores her frustrated whine. Back and forth, sliding through the slickness between her thighs. “Just from a few words. Is that it?”

“Y-yeah.”

Felix nips at her neck, and when Annette jumps, he pushes in. Just a little. Barely. Hardly. Not really. And before she can cant her hips towards him, his finger withdraws. “How long have you been like this, Annette?” he asks. The finger she keeps trying to chase teases her, rubbing little, unsatisfying circles outside her entrance. “How long have you been _this_ wet for me?”

“Ngh, come on, you’re teasing—”

“I’m just asking a question.” Felix pulls back, not letting her grab him again, to see her face. Her blush. Her expression. “Was it when you were on your knees sucking my cock like your mouth was made for it?” Annette shakes her head furiously, trying to encourage his finger to speed up. Felix complies, but only a little. “No?” When she stays quiet, save her tiny, quick gasps, Felix presses the heel of his hand on her clit and _rubs_.

Twice. And twice only. Annette slumps forward and sighs, part frustration, part comprehension. She’s figured out what he _wants_.

“Earlier,” she confesses. Felix grins, and she ducks her head before he can catch her. He doesn’t try; he’d rather touch her, get her to _beg_.

“Mm, there’s a good girl.” Annette shudders, and he rewards her by sliding his finger inside. So easy; she’s _soaked_ and she still manages to grip him like his finger’s the only thing tethering her to life.

“Felix!”

“That’s my name. Good girl.” He kisses her, and her answering kiss is sloppy, desperate. There’s still saliva on her lips, and the look in her lust-fogged eyes is positively sinful, if Felix cared about such things.

He doesn’t. He cares about making Annette come screaming his name.

“Tell me,” Felix demands, and now he pumps the finger into her, setting a pace she can keep up with. He curls it, just a little, and her moan’s too quiet for his liking. “Tell me how long you’ve wanted this. How long have you—” Felix glances down at his finger buried inside her and adds another, earning him and the chapel another cry, “—been practically _dripping_ for me?”

If he weren’t so hard himself, Felix thinks he could tease her, talk to her like this all day.

“Wh-when—ah, Felix!” Annette’s nails sink into his shoulder when his speed increases, palming her clit at irregular intervals.

“I know my name already. Tell me.”

“When-you-said-I’d-like-that,” she babbles, pausing to moan when he thumbs her clit just as he spreads his fingers inside her. “Wh-when I…when-you-said-I’d-like-to-scr—”

She does scream.

“Felix, Felix!”

“Are you going to come already?” he teases, but even he can tell how husky his voice has become. “Are you _that_ eager for my cock?”

“Don’t you _dare_ st—”

Felix speeds up.

“I want to feel it,” he says as evenly as he can, watching her face as she gasps and moans and tries not to meet his gaze. “I want you to feel my fingers fucking you when you come around them. I want to know how tight you get when it’s not even my cock making you scream.”

It doesn’t take much past that.

Annette’s fingers press deeper and deeper into his shoulders the closer she gets. Felix will undoubtedly have bruises in their shape come morning—or even when they’re done. But they’re not done, far from it, even though Annette _does_ scream—“Please, please, please, please—“—and tightens so hard around his fingers he can barely curl them again one last time.

When she slumps against him, Felix withdraws them and waits for her to come back to herself.

“Oh,” she finally says into his chest. She presses her mouth against his skin in a lazy kiss. “That was…” She raises her head to smile, or say something sweet and innocent, maybe—and Felix takes the opportunity to stare her dead in the eyes and lick his fingers clean.

Annette’s squeak pierces the chapel’s walls in a less satisfying but much funnier way. “Warn me when you’re going to…to look at me so… _that_ way!” she laughs, scrubbing her face. “It’s not fair! I’m still vulnerable!”

Felix smirks and pushes her onto her back. “No.”

The blush painting her cheeks is, for lack of a better word, divine.

“N-no?”

Felix ignores the question and sucks kiss after bruising kiss into her skin—neck, chest, breast, neck again—stroking himself back to full hardness. “Vulnerable, was it?”

Annette sighs, idly stroking his hair down his back through his mouth’s assault. “Super vulnerable.”

“Well,” Felix says, rising up just enough to take in the sight of her spread out for him on _his_ cloak, “you look good vulnerable.” He lets her pull him back into one more deep, languorous kiss, but only one. “But now I’m wondering how you _feel_.”

Annette giggles. Less out-of-breath, more breathily. “Come find out,” she teases, cupping one of her breasts and tweaking her own nipple. She bites her lip and hums, and while Felix knows she’s playing it up, the sight of her own _fingers_ on herself like this…

“Oh, I will,” he promises, something almost like a snarl roughening the edges of his voice. “Spread your legs.”

Her legs open faster than Felix could ever draw a weapon. He nestles against her, hips to hips, “I want to hear you scream,” reminder punctuated with another searing kiss, and with one hard thrust of his cock inside her, Annette grants Felix’s wish.

“Beautiful,” he moans into her hair. He sets a punishing pace, driving her hard into his cloak. each roll of his hips makes Annette’s voice moan his praises against the chapel walls.

“Faster, please,” she begs. Felix cups her face in his hands and seals his moan and curse into her mouth. He swallows every one of her desperate keening cries, keeping more of her moans to himself. Selfish, greedy, and delicious. But the chapel still echoes with the frantic sound of their bodies coming together, the slide of his cloak’s cloth on the stone, and the occasional escaped screams even he can’t keep trapped in her mouth.

“More,” Annette demands when he finally slows down. Felix grazes the tip of his cock against a spot that makes her bite her fist. He pushes it away, rocks into her with another hard thrust.

“More what?”

“More of—of this,” Annette says, confused and impatient. She wraps her legs around his hips and tries to urge him on. Felix only offers her a second, single, shallower thrust.

“I told you. Use your words.” Felix bends over her again, shifting enough inside to draw a clear, lovely whine from her throat. “Beg me for it.”

“I—” Annette sucks in a deep breath when her last futile effort to get him to go _faster_ fails, “please, Felix.”

“Please what?” Another, but deeper this time.

“Please fuck me harder!” Annette screams, tighter everywhere, around his back, her nails in his skin, around his _cock_ , “Fuck me into the floor, fuck me in—"

“ _Hell_ ,” Felix gasps, shivers rolling down his spine, and he wastes no more time with agonizing teases. He brings her legs over his shoulders, bends her almost in half, and fucks the words and screams out of her.

Annette throws one arm over her face, the sounds coming from her voice almost like sobs. “I love this,” she mumbles between cries. “I love this so much.”

Felix is having trouble with words now himself, but he supposes even he’s not immune to some praise. “Oh?” He slams into her again, driving against some spot that makes her little sobs full-fledged pleas for more. “Good, thought you would, _knew_ you’d like it—”

Felix is close, maybe too close if he wants to get her to come again and with him. “You’re almost—?” she asks, peeking out from under her arm. Her hair is a _wreck_ and it makes Felix unable to do more than nod. “Okay. Okay. Okay.” She reaches between them when Felix shifts positions. Annette’s own fingers, just above where their bodies join, help work her closer, help her keep up.

But she still manages to get there first. The chapel fills with the rapturous syllables of his name in her voice.

Annette is everywhere around him and Felix has never felt more her captive.

He comes shouting her name, the only thing he can remember how to say.

“Annette, Annette, A—I—"

Felix comes shouting her name until he remembers how to say he loves her, too.

* * *

As Felix and Annette discover later, Saint Indech is not the only one who hears prayers uttered in his sanctum.

They were neat. They were efficient. They tidied up as best they could and as much as a holy building deserved. They left the pews undisturbed, the floors cleaned, the knee-shaped scuffs in the last bit of dust swept.

And still, a student tracks them down far too quickly. Dinner has hardly started.

“Professor Dominic?”

Felix and Annette turn around in line at the dining hall. Annette’s tray is laden with sweetish sauces and sweeter desserts. Felix’s tray is laden with what might as well be an entire spice market. The student who has accosted them bears no tray, but she is holding a vaguely-familiar glass bottle.

A half-full glass bottle.

“Sorry to disturb you.” The student does not sound contrite in the least. “I was just walking by, and I heard—well, I mean, I was walking around, and I happened to find this.” She shakes the bottle for emphasis, and water sloshes around. “It wouldn’t happen to be yours, would it?”

Annette, before Felix can tell the student where to stick the water bottle, frowns. Baffled. Oblivious. Doomed. “I mean, maybe. Where did you find it?”

Felix, who had wanted to shout in humiliated despair the moment he’d seen the water bottle, wants to scream even more.

The student, at least, has the decency to blush. “I, uh…in one of the, um, chapels of Saint Indech.”

And even though Felix has already figured it out, he still freezes in line alongside Annette.

“Ex _cuse_ me,” a surly professor mumbles as he scoots past their place to heap more tartine onto his tray.

“Why would you—what were you doing—which one?”

Felix has no idea how to stop this. Like watching an operatic production burn during a performance. Like watching the Imperial army march on the monastery. Like watching a student try to keep a straight face as she dares to—

“Oh, you know,” the student hedges. “Just…the one behind the training classroom. Earlier. From today. The…the mortal savant class.”

Annette snatches the bottle out of the girl’s grasp without much in the ways of ‘thank you.’ Felix turns back to line, ready to cut whoever thought they could sneak past again, but Sothis has a sense of humor, because Annette _still_ asks, “So…just, you know. Wondering, I guess. Around when were you, uh…by that chapel?”

Felix thinks a much more suitable question would be ‘ _Why_ ,’ but even that’s too much a risk. He nudges Annette’s shoulder as he passes in line, hoping she gets the hint, but she just lets herself be jostled.

“Uh.” The student swallows. The student does not _leave_. The student does not lie. Both these options would be much better than doing what the student does next, which is to confess: “Right after class. I…saw you and Professor Fraldarius over there—” she nods at Professor Fraldarius, who does not turn around fast enough to glare daggers and maybe throw one, “—walking over, and I thought maybe you were getting more savant practice in, and—”

Felix slowly turns around again. The professor behind him, who had tried to cut him in line already, takes her chances and sidles on by.

“Speak another word on this matter and I’ll show you right now just how much _savant practice_ you need to still be a competent, living body,” Felix snaps.

The blushing student runs.

But not before calling over her shoulder, “I just thought you might be a bit dehydrated is all!”

Annette clutches the water bottle, staring after the girl like she’d clocked her upside the head with it.

“I don’t think I’d like to go to class tomorrow,” she informs Felix once he’s dragged her back in line.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I bet you wouldn’t, would you?”

**Author's Note:**

> gentle reminder I am [@NenalataWrites](https://twitter.com/NenalataWrites) on twitter if you want to ask me why I'm like this


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